


Shh, I've Got You

by ArthursImpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Dean Winchester Loves Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Needs Love, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Depressed Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Episode: s09e12 Sharp Teeth, Episode: s09e13 The Purge, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Sam Winchester Is An Asshole, Sam Winchester Loves Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicide Attempt, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15719961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthursImpala/pseuds/ArthursImpala
Summary: "No, Dean. I wouldn't."Sam's words dug deep. Real deep. Dean just comes to realize how much of a worthless piece of crap he is. Sam doesn't even want to be his damn brother anymore.He wants to stop hurting Sam, stop being a failure. So he does the only rational thing he can think of. He pulls out the knife.





	Shh, I've Got You

**Author's Note:**

> I IN NO WAY ENDORSE SUICIDE. IF YOU OR A LOVED ONE NEEDS HELP, OR IS FEELING THIS WAY, PLEASE SEEK HELP.  
> You Are Loved, & Always Keep Fighting.
> 
> Enjoy :)

“So what -- we’re not family now?” 

“I’m saying, you want to work? Let’s work. If you want to be brothers… Those are my terms.”

Dean nodded once, masking his pain with the ruly facade he’s put up his entire life. His eyes followed Sam as he turned and headed for the passenger side of the Impala, opening the door and settling himself onto the seat.  
Dean’s lip wobbled, but he forced himself to show no emotion to his brother — no, his _co-worker_ — who sat still, glaring out the window. Dean sniffed, wiping his eyes with his fingers, rubbing down his face and finishing at his jaw. He bit his lip and turned swiftly on his heels, heading to the back of the apartment building, away from Sam’s view.  
His hands were shaking, knees wobbling as he forced himself down the wall. He raised his arms to his head, gripping the longer hairs on top his head and pulling, pulling enough to tear some out. 

He tried to control his breathing, stop it from getting more frantic. 

Sam hated him. His younger brother hated him. And he felt as though there was nothing to do. He had tried, tried so hard to be the best brother he could be, but it all went down the proverbial drain. He was a goddamn failure and he knew it.

The cold steel of his switchblade pressed against his skin as he held it tightly in closed fists. He let the tears fall down burning cheeks, watched as the droplets descended onto well worn jeans. The familiar itch came across him, the need to do something about the pain. Try to lessen it, try to add on to it. ‘Cause after all the wrong he had done, he very well deserves it. 

He brought up his trembling fist, clicking open the blade and pressing it to his wrist. Sliced his skin and watched with satisfaction as blood rised and trickled down his arm, onto the ground below him. He bit back a laugh; his life was so fucked up that he found release in self-harm. 

He cut again. And again. One last time, creating a total of four, almost identical wounds, watching with a fond look as the blood now cascaded down his hand, down his fingertips. They weren’t deep enough to kill, or seriously maim, just to leave a reminder of all the failures he’s had.  
His body wasn’t exactly a clean slate. If it weren’t for magical healing, his body would be a canvas of horrible memories Dean Winchester has been forced through. And they never went away. 

He sighed, figured he’d be back behind the building long enough, and figured Sam would at least come and check on him, make sure his partner was okay. 

He didn’t.

Dean took his handkerchief, wiped away the existing blood on his forearm and pulled down his sleeves. Dried his eyes, rubbed his face to try to clear the redness. Get rid of any emotion. Hide the fact that he was doing this to himself, because he didn’t need the pity, didn’t need Sam to feel like even more crap because of Dean.  
But he wanted to be noticed. He wanted the reassurance that his life wasn’t just worthless, that he’d done some good. That he could be.. Redeemed. He just so desperately wanted Sam to see him hurting, and yet he didn’t. He so badly wanted to scream out;  
_Help me! Someone, just take this pain away._  
But no one would answer anyway. He didn’t want his baby brother to see him as the good-for-nothing, pathetic man he’s grown to be. Because he didn’t want to appear weak. Because he couldn’t handle situations like these, and that he never really could. 

 

Dean stood and headed back to the car, shoving the bloody handkerchief in his jacket pocket. Made him seem almost emotionless. He’d done it so many times, it almost seemed natural.  
Sam was on his phone, head propped up by his fist. He barely acknowledged Dean’s presence as he lowered himself onto the seat, started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Never took a second glance as Dean pulled his sleeve down, steering with only one hand.  
Yeah, his face held no emotion, but his eyes told everything, if only Sam would look. 

|----------|

“Alright, you want to be honest? If the situation were reversed, and I was dying, you’d do the same thing.”

“No, Dean. I wouldn’t. Same circumstances, I wouldn’t.”

Dean faltered, took a few steps away. Giving his brother his space, as he wanted. He stood tall, back straight and face hard and unmoving as stone. Watched, speechless, as his brother announced his departure and left the kitchen. Only then, when Sam’s back was turned, no longer to stand beside him, did Dean allow himself to break. 

His eyes grew watery, and his knees buckled. He caught himself on the table’s edge and lowered himself down, placing his shaken self on the chair. 

His brother didn’t care. Because, why would he? Everything Dean did, was wrong. Sam had outright told him that. Dean had tried so hard to convince himself that he did more good than bad, but his brother’s words shattered that self confidence, watched and laughed as it broke like glass. 

He began shaking. Trembling and breath coming out raggedly.  
He couldn’t do this anymore.  
He couldn’t continue to disappoint Sam, disappoint every single goddamn person he cared about. 

_Sam didn’t even want to be his brother._

No, he wouldn’t do it anymore. How dare he continue to ruin Sam’s life? How dare he make rash decisions that only affected others? How dare he live while others continued to die at his feet? 

Dean sat at the table for no longer than a few minutes before he pushed himself upwards. His sweaty palms reached for the doorway as he stumbled towards it, body swaying and threatening to collapse to the ground. The weight of everything he’s done wrong was taking him down, and he knew it.  
With difficulty, Dean managed to bring himself to his bedroom. He pulled out the chair to his desk and sat down, running his fingers through his hair nervously. He knew he had to write some sort of note, but what the hell did he write?

It didn’t take him long until the pen was held firmly in his hand, ink bleeding into stark white paper. His hand shook as he wrote, tears falling down his cheeks and dampening the paper below him. He wiped them away furiously, but they just kept on coming.  
Once he felt that everything that he needed to say was written down, Dean drew back from the chair and raised his head. He thought of writing one for Cas, but he knew Sam would explain it all. He was just so damn tired. He needed out.

Dean folded up the paper and placed it in the middle of his pillow; he just hoped Sam would come to his room first.  
He grabbed his penknife from his bedside table and staggered to the bathroom, bottle of whiskey he took from his room clutched in hand. He took a swig, wiping the excess liquid from his chin. He figured the best place to finally off himself was under the shower spray, wash away the blood so Sam didn’t have to do much cleaning up for his ass. Yeah, that seemed reasonable. 

He sat on the floor tiles underneath the shower spray. He thought it was going to be easy, slit his wrists and wait for death to come to him. Most importantly, he wanted it to be painful. Painful enough that he’d almost feel the pain everyone else felt when they were near him. Slow enough to drag it on for a few minutes.

God, what was he doing? Being weak, being too weak to be a man and face the consequences he knew needed facing. But he’d been strong for too long; his time was up. 

But when he rolled up his sleeves, when he raised that knife, everything he had been trying to hold in came crashing out around him. 

_Christ, Dean, what the hell did you do back there? You almost got Sammy killed, you worthless piece of shit!_

_You couldn’t even stop that boy from leaving, could you? Sam waltzed out of that door, and he ain’t comin’ back. Ever stop to think how it’s your fault?_

_You can’t even protect your little brother!_

_Dean, how about you just get out of my way? I’m not a little kid anymore! I don’t need my big, strong brother to protect me anymore. Just, get away from me._

_I was ready to die. I was ready. I should have died, but you... You didn't want to be alone, and that's what all this boils down to.  
You can't stand the thought of being alone._

_I can't trust you -- not the way I thought I could, not the way I should be able to._

_No Dean, I wouldn’t._

_I should’ve left you in that fire. Should’ve just taken Sammy and run. Should’ve let you burn with your mother._

 

Dean was outright sobbing. Hand pressed against his mouth to stifle the noise, but it did nothing. He desperately needed out, he couldn’t stand the disappointment on his brother’s face anymore, couldn’t stand the incessant voices that circled around in his head. 

“I’m so sorry, Sammy.” 

He brought the knife up, and cut.

 

Sam was lying awake, unable to sleep. The words he had just said stuck to him and he couldn’t get rid of him. Part of him knew that Dean deserved it, because he did. Nonetheless, he knew it was still a bit harsh.  
Dean took his life in his hands and played with it. Sam was ready to die, he was tired of all the betrayal and tired of always fighting the good fight. It was his time, but Dean took that from him.  
Yet, he didn’t want to leave this night the way it was.

He swung his legs up and off the bed, resting his bare feet on the cold floor. Tonight just, didn’t seem right.  
He wouldn’t apologize to Dean, he had no reason to. He just wanted to talk it out a bit more, let Dean talk before storming off, away from the conversation. He rubbed his face with his hands and headed down the hallway, to his brother’s room. 

Sam knocked on the door, pausing a few seconds to wait for an answer. “Dean? Dean, I want to talk to you.” No reply. Sam opened the door, but only to be met with an empty room. He sighed, and was about to turn around to head to the kitchen when he noticed the paper that was on top of the pillow.

He squinted his eyes in confusion and stepped into Dean’s room. Did Dean leave?  
He lowered himself to the bed and grabbed the paper, eyes widening and back straightening as he began to read. 

_Hey, Sam._  
_I, uh, I don’t really know how to write this, ‘cause I guess I’ve never done it before. But, I guess I shouldn’t prolong this or anything, so I’ll just get to the point._

__

_I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry for being the piss-poor brother I’ve been. I just wanted to protect you, because that was my job. I’ve come to realize that I don’t need to do that anymore. You don’t need me._  
_You were right, I can’t do this alone. I can’t stand the thought of being alone, because once you start knowing more about me, underneath everything I’ve put up for show, I’m just weak. I’ve tried so hard being the strong brother I needed to be, but I’m just not._  
_I put too much on you. I can’t do that anymore. You can’t even trust me any more, because I’m just such a worthless fuck up, ruining everything I come across._

_Sam, don’t be hard on yourself. I mean, I don’t know if you will be, ‘cause I know you don’t want nothing with me. Just, don’t blame yourself, because it’s my fault. I couldn’t protect you from this life, and now I just keep dragging you back. I can’t make these decisions for you anymore._

_I love you, Sammy. If I follow through, which I know I will, I should be in the bathroom. No need to make you clean up after me, even after I’m dead, right?_

_Take care of yourself, Sam._  
_All of Heaven and Hell knows I’m proud of you._  
Dean.

Sam had to stop himself from letting out a sob. His hand was trembling. He crumbled up the note and threw it on the ground. _Dean was going to kill himself because of him._

Sam stood up so abruptly, he gave himself a head rush. But that didn’t matter. He needed to stop his brother. He ran out of Dean’s room and down the hall, all while screaming Dean’s name. 

 

Dean watched the blood flow from his arms, a small smile on his face. He shakily reached up and turned the shower on, letting the spray of the water fall down upon him. That was when he heard Sam yell him name. Dean’s head shot up, listening as Sam’s heavy footprints neared the bathroom door. _No, no no no no no. Sam wasn’t supposed to be awake right now!_  
With struggle, Dean pushed himself up, leaning against the stall. He needed to lock that door, barricade it, stop Sam from getting to him. He staggered towards the door, but never made it. He collapsed to the ground after taking a few steps, too weak to hold his body up. The door flew open, and stood on its threshold was Sam, looking worried and shaken. Once he saw Dean, lying on the floor, he raced over.

“Dean! Dean, oh god. What were you thinking?” Sam crouched down to his brother, gathering him up in his arms.

“No, S’mmy. G-go, leave me. Please..” Dean muttered, using what was left of his strength to push himself out of Sam’s grasp.

“No, no, no.” Sam lunged forward and grabbed Dean, holding him against his chest. “You aren’t leavin’ me, Dean. Not today, not tomorrow. Shh.” Sam looked down at Dean’s arms, which were coated in blood and weren’t stopping. “Oh god, oh god.” Sam tore off his own shirt, wrapping Dean’s arms in the fabric, trying to stem the flow. “We’ve got to get you to the hospital, Dean.”

 

“No, S’m. Let me d-die. Go.. live your life. S’mmy, stop!” Dean exclaimed, trembling an still trying to push himself away. Tears were cascading down his cheeks, but he was too tired to try and stop them.

“Dean, no. Dean stop moving!” Sam shouted, gripping his brother firmly. 

“No, get ‘way from me. Don’ wanna hurt you more. You don’ care..” 

“No, Dean, of course I care, of course I fucking care. Shh, Shh, It’s okay. We’re gonna get you help, an-and we’re gonna fix you. It’s okay, Dean.” Sam tried to stop his own tears, but he was too far gone to care. “I’m sorry, Dean, I’m sorry.”

“No, stoppit. Stop pretendin’.. Jus’ lemme die. ‘M worthless and a-a failure, c’n’t do n’thin’ righ’..” 

“Dean, c’mon, I love you man, please, please just listen to me. You are so much more than you think you are.” Sam gathered Dean up, one arm under his shoulders and the other under his knees, standing up with the effort of carrying his big brother. Dean tried to protest, tried to scream at his brother, but his voice was too weak, his tears became less and less..

Sam jogged towards the Impala, he needed to get Dean out of here and to the hospital. He just needed Dean to stay awake for fifteen minutes, only fifteen minutes. He murmured comforting words to his brother, but Dean was too out of it to care. Not that he would’ve, anyway.

“C’mon Dean, please. I’m sorry, I was too harsh on you. God, Dean, please.” Sam was begging to get him to stay awake, just keep your eyes open, Dean. 

“S’mmy.. ‘M s’rry..” Dean whispered. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he became limp in Sam’s arms. 

“No, no, no, no, no. Dean, Dean open your eyes. Open your eyes for me, De.” Sam hurriedly opened the passenger door and laid Dean down, shutting the door and running over to the driver’s side. He got inside, pressed down on the gas, and raced out of the bunker and onto the dirt roads.  
Sam peeled down the asphalt, making a fifteen minute drive into eight minutes. Sam couldn’t stop the tears if he tried; Dean tried to commit suicide because of him. He hadn’t really let that sink in yet.  
_He tried to kill himself because of me._  
His words hurt Dean so badly, it drove him to attempting suicide. 

“Oh god!” Sam cried out, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He could he have done that? He only hoped that they could fix Dean up so he could apologize.  
He drove up the the Emergency Bay, bringing the car to a stop and throwing himself out the door. He ran over and opened the passenger side, pulling his brother out of the car and into his arms. He sprinted to the doorway, waiting for the sliding doors to open. 

“Help! I need help here!” Sam yelled, stopping in the sign in area and looking around for the doctor. A few of the awaiting patients looked annoyed with the late night interruption, but that immediately faltered to concern once they saw the blood-soaked shirt around Dean’s arms.  
In a flurry, about a dozen or so doctors swarmed around him and took Dean’s limp body away from him, placing him down on a stretcher. Sam stood there, uselessly, as he watched his brother get taken away.  
He startled when a nurse came up to him and rested her hand on his shoulder, told him to follow her and she’d get him situated in a more private waiting room. It took a bit more coaxing until he trudged behind her, eyes focused on the blood stained on his hands, under his fingertips.  
She noticed and led him to a bathroom, letting him take his time in washing his hands.  
He emerged out of the bathroom, eyes red-rimmed and fresh tears falling down his cheeks. She gave him a sympathetic look, and led him to the waiting room. He took a seat, and she sat beside him, giving Sam her best ‘he’ll be okay, the doctors here are amazing and will help your brother,’ before excusing herself.  
Sam buried his head in his hands, sighing loudly. God, how could he have done this to his brother? 

It was a few hours later when Sam heard his name get called. Sam shot up out of the chair, despite his aching back, and walked forward to meet with the blonde-haired doctor. He man before him gave him another, customary sympathetic smile, before leading the both of them to a set of chairs. Sam was anxious; after all, it was his fault Dean was in the hospital.

“Sam, I take it you know what happened?” The doctor — whom, by the name tag on his jacket, was Doctor Darien — said, placing his clipboard on his thighs. Sam nodded in reply. “Well, I’m glad to say that your brother is in stable condition. He seemed to have purposely avoided the major arteries in his arms; most likely to prolong death.” Darien explained. “But, the wounds were still deep and we’d like him to stay hospitalized for a few days until he gets better. Of course, he’d still need to be kept here for 24 hours under mandatory psychiatric hold for attempted suicide.” 

“I understand, thank you. Can I uh, can I see him?” Sam asked, eyes filled with hope. The doctor nodded, and stood. 

“Of course, follow me.” The doctor headed out of the waiting room, Sam following suit. “Dean is still unconscious, so don’t expect much from him.” Darien reminded, stopping in front of a door. He opened it for him, and Sam walked in, eyes watering. Dean looked so fragile in that bed, so pale. Sam breath quickened and he stepped to the bed, sitting down on the awaiting chair.

“Oh, god, Dean. Why did you do this to yourself?” Sam asked to deaf ears. The doctor excused himself, and left the brothers alone. Sam grabbed Dean’s hand, and held it as he wept. 

 

Dean awoke to an incessant beeping on his right side. He frowned, why the hell would that be in Hell? He struggled to open his eyes, and moaned in the process. It seemed to have gotten someone’s attention, as he heard shuffling on his left and a loud, deep voice calling out his name. Why did they sound frantic? Or, was it relieved? 

He waited until his vision settled, and he was met, face to face, with Sam. Dean was confused, wasn’t he supposed to be dead? And, in Hell?  
No, he was in a hospital room, bandages wrapped around his arms, a worried Sam overlooking him. No. He shouldn’t be here.  
Apparently, he was panicking, because all of a sudden Sam was trying to calm him down with words that just jumbled together.  
Dean shook his head with effort, eyes darting around the room. 

“No, No. ‘M not suppos’ t’ be ‘ere.. Suppos’ t’ be dead..” Dean whispered in blatant displeasure. Sam was hovering over him, hand held in his own. 

“Shh, shh, Dean. It’s okay, it’ll all be okay, I promise.” 

“No, S’mmy. Go ‘way, you.. Suppos’ t’ hate me.” 

“Shh. I don’t hate you Dean, I’m so sorry. Shouldn’t have said what I said.” Sam told him, rubbing his brother’s hand with his thumb. Dean shook his head furiously, and tried to sit up.

“No, no, no, no.” Dean panicked. Sam held him down, stopping Dean from moving and jarring his damaged arms. “S’m, please. Gotta stop, worthless.. ‘M broken!” 

 

“Dean! Dean, stop, please!” Sam shouted, tears falling from his eyes and onto Dean’s chest. “Just listen to me, okay? Listen.” 

“No..”

 

“Shh. Dean, listen to me. You aren’t worthless. You aren’t a failure. You are the best man I have ever known, and I’m fucking glad to have you as my brother. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t in the best place. I never meant to drive you away like that. Dean, I love you, you’re my brother. I wouldn’t have it any other damn way.” Sam said, sitting back down. “I was upset, Dean. We all say things we don’t mean. I just didn’t think it would hurt you so much.” 

“S’m..” 

“No. Don’t try to say it wasn’t my fault, because, frankly, we’re both to blame. But that doesn’t mean I want you to kill yourself.” Sam watched as tears began to pour down Dean’s face. “We can’t pretend that nothing happened, but we can try to put this past us. We can try to fix this, because you aren’t all broken. Jesus, Dean, I love you.” Sam said honestly. 

“No, tha’.. isn’t true.. not ‘llowed.” Dean said, between sobs. Sam reached up and cupped Dean’s face in his hands. 

“‘Course it is. I’m your brother. I love you so damn much, Dean. Please, just understand that.” Sam tried and tried to explain. But Dean’s trembling got worse, and he continued to babble.

“No, no, no. No!” Sam rushed up and gathered his broken brother in his arms, sitting up on the edge of the bed. And he held him. Held his big brother for as long as Dean needed him to, persistently telling him that he loves him, that he’s there for him. Shh, I’ve got you.  
He figured that’s what Dean needed. Reassurance. Of his worth, of the love he deserves. Even if it would take forever to get Dean to believe it.

Sam knew there were no words that could just fix his brother, as quick as a snap of the fingers. There was no amount of contact that would fix him. But he’d try. Goddammit he’ll try. He won’t give up on him, and he’ll try to convince Dean as well.  
There was a hell of a journey for the brothers. But they’d make it.


End file.
